Here's a poem I wrote after watching some lightning on my balcony.
---
Lightning shrieks across the sky
Poetic glee crackling
in the heavens' silent scream.
Creation dazzles against so great a backdrop
sparkling with inspirational light.
Who says that there is no God?
When the world so clearly is born
of the brush of a gleeful universe
creating art for art's sake
and rumbling contended laughter
as its creations writhe in cognizance.
An artist does not seek to control their art
but rather to birth it, separate and whole
and let it revel in the joy of its existence
with a brush dipped in the ink of dreams
threaded by stars and constellations
it splatters matter upon empty soil
and so great is its design
that the art becomes an artist
and births its own splendorous works
forming a perfect circle
of karmic brilliance
unending, and unrestrained.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Alas--my dilemma
Hello everyone. It's been awhile since I last posted here. Been dealing with school and the insatiable and irresistable laziness associated with summer. It's been a balmy 105+ degrees here in Arizona, and with the heat as soul-crushingly bad as it is, I find it quite displeasing to go outside, as sweating in so dry a climate makes me dehydrated quite swiftly.
As for other news...well, there isn't much worth reporting to the vast public eye of the family at large. I'm alive and well. My health is (hopefully) decent, and despite a need to get more exercise, I'm doing well enough.
College life is a bit...barren at times, akin to a dystopia, where the once marvelous and enchanting artifacts of a futuristic world no longer hold sway over me, and my sole entertainment lies in the sad, labyrinthine passages of the World Wide Web, where Wikipedia and Youtube offer fleeting glimpses into a larger, more entertaining world. A brief escape from the monotony of existence, where I may, as many have, enjoy seeing the results of men applying Mentos to Diet Coke, British Television, clips from popular cartoon shows, and additionally learn all about the likes of Truman Capote, Jainism, Hinduism, To Kill a Mocking Bird, Audrey Hepburn, and throat cancer, all in one convieniant location. Indeed, with the Internet riding high as the world's number one communication medium, there's nothing better to distract one from the woes and miseries of the outside world, where things such as heat and car exhaust choke at the body and spirit, much like a suffocating blanket stitched in the promises of progress and manifest destiny.
While I hold onto my sanity with steady hands, I can't help but panic in my own silent, frantic manner as responsibility and education break into my seclusion, pulling me away from my networked nest of necessary nuance, demanding that I step outside and embrace this burning, unapologetic world. So, with a heart heavy and eyes bleary from a lack of sleep and poor diet, I trudge sadly the short, but arduous distance from my apartment complex to the classrooms, where I will sit idly by a computer, typing notes with the speed of a secretary, finding that paying attention to the words spoken is almost optional, as my body can work on automatic, and my mind can operate at the speed of light, distancing itself from the tedium of school, life and learning, casting itself adrift across the vast seas of dream and fancy, imagining worlds far better than this, carving monuments and histories out of thin air, and splattering this worlds, like paint upon a canvas, unto the fabric of my inner conscience, where in the privacy of my own thoughts, I can bask in my creations for as long as I like, soaking in the infinite flavors that only the imagination can produce, and when I walk out of that classroom, shouldering textbook laden bag carefully, I can stare out at the even, unchanging stone and steel and glass world around me, and in my mind's eye it changes, twisting into something more beautiful and yet far more terrible than anything reality could possibly produce, and in the nightmares of my sweetest dreams I set forth upon my journey home, the hateful sun casting deadly hubris upon my weak and feeble body, draining away the comforting worlds of imagination and dream from my pleading, panicking mind, and when I do return to my air-conditioned apartment, I find my thoughts and ideas have left me, have been burnt to cinders in my mind by the harshness of the world outside, and sitting upon my unkempt bed, I look back to the computer at my side, where once I did cast my dreamworlds into written form, breathing life into them like the great literary authors of old, and instead of opening my tired and broken word processor to pain this dreams anew; instead of opening the college's website, where I may begin my arduous and doldrum homework, so mind-numbing that to compare its effects upon my soul to anything less than a heroin needle dipped in cyanide would be a disservice to its unflinching tedium, I open my internet browser, and click.
And that, my friends, is when the internet takes hold once more, delighting me in an artificial dream, abstract and foreign, yet comforting in its petty, shallow delights, and there I sulk, melting away into the primordial pool of networked communication, where I lose my self, my mind and my spirit, to an ever flowing stream of noise, discord, and madness.
As for other news...well, there isn't much worth reporting to the vast public eye of the family at large. I'm alive and well. My health is (hopefully) decent, and despite a need to get more exercise, I'm doing well enough.
College life is a bit...barren at times, akin to a dystopia, where the once marvelous and enchanting artifacts of a futuristic world no longer hold sway over me, and my sole entertainment lies in the sad, labyrinthine passages of the World Wide Web, where Wikipedia and Youtube offer fleeting glimpses into a larger, more entertaining world. A brief escape from the monotony of existence, where I may, as many have, enjoy seeing the results of men applying Mentos to Diet Coke, British Television, clips from popular cartoon shows, and additionally learn all about the likes of Truman Capote, Jainism, Hinduism, To Kill a Mocking Bird, Audrey Hepburn, and throat cancer, all in one convieniant location. Indeed, with the Internet riding high as the world's number one communication medium, there's nothing better to distract one from the woes and miseries of the outside world, where things such as heat and car exhaust choke at the body and spirit, much like a suffocating blanket stitched in the promises of progress and manifest destiny.
While I hold onto my sanity with steady hands, I can't help but panic in my own silent, frantic manner as responsibility and education break into my seclusion, pulling me away from my networked nest of necessary nuance, demanding that I step outside and embrace this burning, unapologetic world. So, with a heart heavy and eyes bleary from a lack of sleep and poor diet, I trudge sadly the short, but arduous distance from my apartment complex to the classrooms, where I will sit idly by a computer, typing notes with the speed of a secretary, finding that paying attention to the words spoken is almost optional, as my body can work on automatic, and my mind can operate at the speed of light, distancing itself from the tedium of school, life and learning, casting itself adrift across the vast seas of dream and fancy, imagining worlds far better than this, carving monuments and histories out of thin air, and splattering this worlds, like paint upon a canvas, unto the fabric of my inner conscience, where in the privacy of my own thoughts, I can bask in my creations for as long as I like, soaking in the infinite flavors that only the imagination can produce, and when I walk out of that classroom, shouldering textbook laden bag carefully, I can stare out at the even, unchanging stone and steel and glass world around me, and in my mind's eye it changes, twisting into something more beautiful and yet far more terrible than anything reality could possibly produce, and in the nightmares of my sweetest dreams I set forth upon my journey home, the hateful sun casting deadly hubris upon my weak and feeble body, draining away the comforting worlds of imagination and dream from my pleading, panicking mind, and when I do return to my air-conditioned apartment, I find my thoughts and ideas have left me, have been burnt to cinders in my mind by the harshness of the world outside, and sitting upon my unkempt bed, I look back to the computer at my side, where once I did cast my dreamworlds into written form, breathing life into them like the great literary authors of old, and instead of opening my tired and broken word processor to pain this dreams anew; instead of opening the college's website, where I may begin my arduous and doldrum homework, so mind-numbing that to compare its effects upon my soul to anything less than a heroin needle dipped in cyanide would be a disservice to its unflinching tedium, I open my internet browser, and click.
And that, my friends, is when the internet takes hold once more, delighting me in an artificial dream, abstract and foreign, yet comforting in its petty, shallow delights, and there I sulk, melting away into the primordial pool of networked communication, where I lose my self, my mind and my spirit, to an ever flowing stream of noise, discord, and madness.
Friday, July 4, 2008
DVDs and the flu
I'm suffering from a terrible bout of the flu at the moment, resulting in bits of dizziness, light-headedness, and other various -nesses. Hacking out phlegm from my nose that seems to be dead-set on making its way into my small intestine has had me questioning how valuable my current lease on life is. Bloody disease is driving me off the wall, and its like a sign from a vindictive, mean-spirited God that I am not allowed to have any fun this 4th of July. Clearly, the influenza virus is un-American, and I think our next failed attempt at a war should not be a war on drugs, terror, Iraq or Gays, but rather a war on Influenza.
It'd be real easy too--all we have to do is find one of those countries suffering from the Bird Flu and drop bombs on them until they accept democracy and free, ineffective vaccines. Our flu shots may not work, but by god, we give them anyway, and they're guaranteed to be just as effective as our current military strategies in the Middle East have been.
In conclusion: fuck the flu.
Changing gears, you know how when you buy DVDs--especially those Special Edition DVDs that run about 25 dollars and have their own useless little DVD sleeves that will likely end up crushed and bent and broken within a week of purchase--they are wrapped up in about layer upon layer of plastic wrap? I mean, first you have the first layer, over the sleeve itself, unwrapping it being the easiest task of the procedure, which is a bit morbid considering how badly abused that DVD sleeve is gonna be. Then, you have to spend two minutes, shaking and tugging and worming out the actual DVD itself, from the sleeve (A task almost requiring personal lubricant, as those fucking things are stuck in there tighter than Winnie the Pooh in Rabbit's House), and then, after all that toil, you have YET ANOTHER bit of plastic wrap to take off. This one is considerably more difficult, and requires careful plucking, tugging, and chewing of the tiny, barely-visible and nigh-ungrippable slip of loose plastic designed to help you in the unraveling process. It can take almost five minutes to slip the plastic wrap off as if it were a two-sizes-too-small T-shirt on an exceptionally fat woman, bunching at all the wrong places and requiring vengeful, violent tugging motions just to continue the slow, arduous journey down and off the case. Finally, once that is off, your first instinct may be to yank open the DVD case and salivate over your prize--but, of course, attempting this is foolhardy, as it will only reward you with frustration as the case refuses to budge.
The cause of this obstruction comes from these seemingly innocuous bits of white sticky paper along the top, bottom, and sometimes even the side of the DVD case. These papers prevent the case from opening, and the only service they provide is to helpfully tell you the name of the DVD and that it IS a DVD--a service that might have been useful, had the name of the film not already been typed in large letters in the front of the fucking box! If you need reminder that this is, in fact, a DVD you are opening, well, then, frankly, you have failed as a human being and should eliminate yourself from the genepool at the nearest railroad crossing.
These white sticky papers are even more difficult to get off, because, unless you are lucky, you will likely botch up the ripping process and only partially tear off the sticky paper, leaving 75% of it remaining on top of your DVD case. This means you'll have to spend yet another ten minutes picking feverishing at the white paper as if it were dead skin on the bottom of your foot, gasping and groaning in almost orgasmic, feverish glee as slowly, but surely, a flap of membrane lifts free and allows you to continue ripping, only for you to have to cry out in frustration as the paper rips prematurely again and you are forced to swallow your anger and with saintly patience resume picking again. This process will repeat itself up to THREE TIMES, depending upon how many white sticky papers are on your DVD case.
Finally, wrapping, sleeve, more wrapping, and our trio of white sticky papers are on the floor and, with childlike glee, you are able to seize the DVD case and wrench it open as if it were the Ark of the Covenant--or, you would, if not for the fact that, after all this, you find that there are these two handy little locks that keep the DVD box securely fastened until you flip them open. That's right--a DVD case which has been double-wrapped, sealed inside a cardboard cover, and then fastened with up to three(!) sticky white pieces of paper, is also LOCKED.
This begs a question from me:
At what point is it that the packagers of this DVD should have decided that enough was fucking enough?
Do we really need this many layers of protection? Is there something more valuable than a film inside these cases? Maybe DVD cases are all imprinted with secret, invisible codes to launch the United States' arsenal of nuclear weapons, codes that only have a fifty-perfect chance of being disintigrated by exposure to open air, leaving every DVD case being in a Schroedinger's cat-esque quantum flux, caught between being mild entertainment or world-destroying tools of the Apocalypse!
That's my theory, at least. What else could explain it?
Happy 4th of July everyone. Unless you're not American. In which case, happy future 4th of July, because sooner or later we're likely going to be invading and taking over your country, so you might as well start practicing your Star Spangled Banner now.
It'd be real easy too--all we have to do is find one of those countries suffering from the Bird Flu and drop bombs on them until they accept democracy and free, ineffective vaccines. Our flu shots may not work, but by god, we give them anyway, and they're guaranteed to be just as effective as our current military strategies in the Middle East have been.
In conclusion: fuck the flu.
Changing gears, you know how when you buy DVDs--especially those Special Edition DVDs that run about 25 dollars and have their own useless little DVD sleeves that will likely end up crushed and bent and broken within a week of purchase--they are wrapped up in about layer upon layer of plastic wrap? I mean, first you have the first layer, over the sleeve itself, unwrapping it being the easiest task of the procedure, which is a bit morbid considering how badly abused that DVD sleeve is gonna be. Then, you have to spend two minutes, shaking and tugging and worming out the actual DVD itself, from the sleeve (A task almost requiring personal lubricant, as those fucking things are stuck in there tighter than Winnie the Pooh in Rabbit's House), and then, after all that toil, you have YET ANOTHER bit of plastic wrap to take off. This one is considerably more difficult, and requires careful plucking, tugging, and chewing of the tiny, barely-visible and nigh-ungrippable slip of loose plastic designed to help you in the unraveling process. It can take almost five minutes to slip the plastic wrap off as if it were a two-sizes-too-small T-shirt on an exceptionally fat woman, bunching at all the wrong places and requiring vengeful, violent tugging motions just to continue the slow, arduous journey down and off the case. Finally, once that is off, your first instinct may be to yank open the DVD case and salivate over your prize--but, of course, attempting this is foolhardy, as it will only reward you with frustration as the case refuses to budge.
The cause of this obstruction comes from these seemingly innocuous bits of white sticky paper along the top, bottom, and sometimes even the side of the DVD case. These papers prevent the case from opening, and the only service they provide is to helpfully tell you the name of the DVD and that it IS a DVD--a service that might have been useful, had the name of the film not already been typed in large letters in the front of the fucking box! If you need reminder that this is, in fact, a DVD you are opening, well, then, frankly, you have failed as a human being and should eliminate yourself from the genepool at the nearest railroad crossing.
These white sticky papers are even more difficult to get off, because, unless you are lucky, you will likely botch up the ripping process and only partially tear off the sticky paper, leaving 75% of it remaining on top of your DVD case. This means you'll have to spend yet another ten minutes picking feverishing at the white paper as if it were dead skin on the bottom of your foot, gasping and groaning in almost orgasmic, feverish glee as slowly, but surely, a flap of membrane lifts free and allows you to continue ripping, only for you to have to cry out in frustration as the paper rips prematurely again and you are forced to swallow your anger and with saintly patience resume picking again. This process will repeat itself up to THREE TIMES, depending upon how many white sticky papers are on your DVD case.
Finally, wrapping, sleeve, more wrapping, and our trio of white sticky papers are on the floor and, with childlike glee, you are able to seize the DVD case and wrench it open as if it were the Ark of the Covenant--or, you would, if not for the fact that, after all this, you find that there are these two handy little locks that keep the DVD box securely fastened until you flip them open. That's right--a DVD case which has been double-wrapped, sealed inside a cardboard cover, and then fastened with up to three(!) sticky white pieces of paper, is also LOCKED.
This begs a question from me:
At what point is it that the packagers of this DVD should have decided that enough was fucking enough?
Do we really need this many layers of protection? Is there something more valuable than a film inside these cases? Maybe DVD cases are all imprinted with secret, invisible codes to launch the United States' arsenal of nuclear weapons, codes that only have a fifty-perfect chance of being disintigrated by exposure to open air, leaving every DVD case being in a Schroedinger's cat-esque quantum flux, caught between being mild entertainment or world-destroying tools of the Apocalypse!
That's my theory, at least. What else could explain it?
Happy 4th of July everyone. Unless you're not American. In which case, happy future 4th of July, because sooner or later we're likely going to be invading and taking over your country, so you might as well start practicing your Star Spangled Banner now.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Things that amuse/annoy me
Amuse: Refills of Circle K's interestingly universally priced fountain drinks are, after tax, exactly three cents cheaper than the pre-tax new fountain drink. The only useful aspect of this is that it would conceivably allow one to literally just hand a dollar to the cashier and, with casual cool and calm, tell him to "keep the change", a term which can be delivered in the same tone as "go fuck yourself" for even cooler effect, as the change would only amount to three cents anyway.
All this, of course, is useless to me, as I live off a credit card.
Annoy: Elevators in my building--or, specifically, the ones that I take to ascend the five floors to my dorm/apartment thing--have their button sets on different sides of the door, making it so that each time I enter the elevator, I have to pick at random which side to turn towards, and if the correct buttons aren't there, I have to do a robotic, chicken shuffle motion to turn around with some amount of grace and dexterity so as to face the proper side and press the correct button, feeling all the more self-conscious because there is this convienient little security camera in the upper corner of the elevator, making me feel as if I have a constant audience to my shame.
Annoy: My room mate's habit of remarking on things he finds displeasure/aggravation with in a manner both subtle, yet annoyingly direct, making it unsure whether he wants me to do something to fix a situation, as well as making me simply unwilling to cooperate, if only out of the principle of demanding people address me with blunt, direct and forward commands.
Amuse: Women all make the same sort of sounds during sex. At first, I thought that porn just used three voice actresses for every video, or there as a standard class or seminar on erotic noise, but no. Turns out, it really all sounds the same. Fancy that.
Amuse/annoy: Fanfiction, both conceptually and literally. As a writer myself, I can't help but identify with the creators of whatever anime/video game/book (I.E. Harry Potter) that is being fanfictioned, as any particularly empathetic writer will tell you that his or her literary creations are like children to that person, with all the surprises and predictable traits inherited from their parents built in. Therefore, fanfiction, by its very definition of being "fiction written by fans", is effectively like a person's children being borrowed for a few hours by a lonely, pre-pubescent twelve-year old girl, radically brainwashed to fulfill homoerotic fantasies or else forced to play with the fanfiction writer's own, slightly more semi-retarded children, before uncerimoniously being dumped on the original parents' doorstep, usually smeared with lipstick and having to explain burning pain in their anuses.
Amuse: My room mate thought the size of our monstrous air-conditioning unit (some fifteen feet tall, towering over the dumpsters outside) is worth commenting on.
Amuse: Today is his last day here.
Annoy: Flaky people. In a non-literal way, people who don't come through when you expect them too, or don't every fully commit to anything, despite being asked or expected too.
Annoy: Flaky people, in a totally literal way. I mean, yuck. Seriously? Yuck.
Amuse: Tenacious D.
Amuse: Marlboro has these buy one, get one free cigarette packs of their less-than-classy blends, but the catch is that these cigarettes are about an inch and a half shorter than a typical cigarette. This ought to annoy me, but they're so damn cute that I can't stay mad. Awww. Lookit you! You're a cute leading cause of mouth, lung, and throat cancer aren't you? Yes you are! Yes you are!
Annoy: When your bed sheets get tugged off your bed during sex. YEESH. Its like one EXTRA hassle.
Annoy: Having no plans for the 4th of July.
Amuse: British Accents. Really, I can listen to just about anything if it's said in a British accent.
Annoy: Overactive guilt complexes, as well as hypocondria. Both of which, of due note, are products of nurture and nature respectfully. THANKS PARENTS!
Amuse: Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe, as well as reading other people's blogs.
Annoy: Not having published an award-winning comic book. I have tons of ideas, why aren't there people begging me to write for their rich companies? Eh? EH!?
Annoy: Feeling bad for not updating my blog, as well as not having anyone outside of my immediate family reading it.
Annoy: I burnt my tongue and cut the side of my mouth on a tortilla chip. Now, the next two days will be spend idly wondering if I've contracted a terrible disease and am only blaming the tortilla chip as a scapegoat, which will result in me feeling bad for the tortilla chip and thus offering to take it out for a relaxing day on the town, visiting all sort sof exciting shops and restraunts and museums and picnicking at the lakeside, laughing and singing songs of our childhood, relishing in the sheer joy of just being alive before, in a fit of passion, I'll forget the good times and greedily shove the chip into my mouth, mentally providing agonized screams of terror and pain as I crush it between my teeth.
Annoy: The temperature is 109 degrees. Fuck. That. Shit.
Annoy: My sandals bite into the back of my foot.
ANNOY: My fan is too small.
ANNOY: MY KEYBOARD KEEPS GETTING STUCK.
ANNOY: EVERYTHING! BWAAARHATEHATEHATE!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Amuse: Pictures of kittens with funny captions written on them.
All this, of course, is useless to me, as I live off a credit card.
Annoy: Elevators in my building--or, specifically, the ones that I take to ascend the five floors to my dorm/apartment thing--have their button sets on different sides of the door, making it so that each time I enter the elevator, I have to pick at random which side to turn towards, and if the correct buttons aren't there, I have to do a robotic, chicken shuffle motion to turn around with some amount of grace and dexterity so as to face the proper side and press the correct button, feeling all the more self-conscious because there is this convienient little security camera in the upper corner of the elevator, making me feel as if I have a constant audience to my shame.
Annoy: My room mate's habit of remarking on things he finds displeasure/aggravation with in a manner both subtle, yet annoyingly direct, making it unsure whether he wants me to do something to fix a situation, as well as making me simply unwilling to cooperate, if only out of the principle of demanding people address me with blunt, direct and forward commands.
Amuse: Women all make the same sort of sounds during sex. At first, I thought that porn just used three voice actresses for every video, or there as a standard class or seminar on erotic noise, but no. Turns out, it really all sounds the same. Fancy that.
Amuse/annoy: Fanfiction, both conceptually and literally. As a writer myself, I can't help but identify with the creators of whatever anime/video game/book (I.E. Harry Potter) that is being fanfictioned, as any particularly empathetic writer will tell you that his or her literary creations are like children to that person, with all the surprises and predictable traits inherited from their parents built in. Therefore, fanfiction, by its very definition of being "fiction written by fans", is effectively like a person's children being borrowed for a few hours by a lonely, pre-pubescent twelve-year old girl, radically brainwashed to fulfill homoerotic fantasies or else forced to play with the fanfiction writer's own, slightly more semi-retarded children, before uncerimoniously being dumped on the original parents' doorstep, usually smeared with lipstick and having to explain burning pain in their anuses.
Amuse: My room mate thought the size of our monstrous air-conditioning unit (some fifteen feet tall, towering over the dumpsters outside) is worth commenting on.
Amuse: Today is his last day here.
Annoy: Flaky people. In a non-literal way, people who don't come through when you expect them too, or don't every fully commit to anything, despite being asked or expected too.
Annoy: Flaky people, in a totally literal way. I mean, yuck. Seriously? Yuck.
Amuse: Tenacious D.
Amuse: Marlboro has these buy one, get one free cigarette packs of their less-than-classy blends, but the catch is that these cigarettes are about an inch and a half shorter than a typical cigarette. This ought to annoy me, but they're so damn cute that I can't stay mad. Awww. Lookit you! You're a cute leading cause of mouth, lung, and throat cancer aren't you? Yes you are! Yes you are!
Annoy: When your bed sheets get tugged off your bed during sex. YEESH. Its like one EXTRA hassle.
Annoy: Having no plans for the 4th of July.
Amuse: British Accents. Really, I can listen to just about anything if it's said in a British accent.
Annoy: Overactive guilt complexes, as well as hypocondria. Both of which, of due note, are products of nurture and nature respectfully. THANKS PARENTS!
Amuse: Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe, as well as reading other people's blogs.
Annoy: Not having published an award-winning comic book. I have tons of ideas, why aren't there people begging me to write for their rich companies? Eh? EH!?
Annoy: Feeling bad for not updating my blog, as well as not having anyone outside of my immediate family reading it.
Annoy: I burnt my tongue and cut the side of my mouth on a tortilla chip. Now, the next two days will be spend idly wondering if I've contracted a terrible disease and am only blaming the tortilla chip as a scapegoat, which will result in me feeling bad for the tortilla chip and thus offering to take it out for a relaxing day on the town, visiting all sort sof exciting shops and restraunts and museums and picnicking at the lakeside, laughing and singing songs of our childhood, relishing in the sheer joy of just being alive before, in a fit of passion, I'll forget the good times and greedily shove the chip into my mouth, mentally providing agonized screams of terror and pain as I crush it between my teeth.
Annoy: The temperature is 109 degrees. Fuck. That. Shit.
Annoy: My sandals bite into the back of my foot.
ANNOY: My fan is too small.
ANNOY: MY KEYBOARD KEEPS GETTING STUCK.
ANNOY: EVERYTHING! BWAAARHATEHATEHATE!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Amuse: Pictures of kittens with funny captions written on them.
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